Jumping Trees: The Proximal Pursuit of Happiness 1121

Happy birthday again, though I’m still not confident that it really exists.

I was visiting her late last night, trying to figure out our impending connection of sorts that has been vying for attention for the last six months. When I get the chance it occurs sporadically; my disposition jutting out and over glaring from the inside out, feeling her body as mine. The first round I’m confused; not merely bemused by the numb taste on my tongue or the nature of it all unraveling, coming back to me, slowly rewinding juxtaposition after another choppy bit; persistent like memory foam an indentation that quickly goes. I’m strewn out as proximal as I may become in my wilted bliss occurring haphazardly; which is how it always is when eyelid watches eye and eye watches eyelids’ darkness prevail, especially when that darkness is unwelcome and eyelid is heavy and eye wants out but can’t tell brain to lift eyelid because brain is slow and drugged up; everything’s moving superultramegaslow but f a s t and daringly tempting only to the eye, so much so that eyelids’ natural action is welcomed and I’m sleeping peacefully on a bed which smells like the discharges of sex because I’ve been too lazy for weeks to wash my sheets; all the same wanting more of what was had that I must lay in it to feel at peace and not be tempted to become a hunter to calm my needs or wants, whatever category society feels the need to place woman|woman sex under. In this state amidst my half dreams [consisting mostly of images to make the body nervous] I hear her speak and slowly drift into my eyesight, readying herself to serenade my brain with another clip of who she is to me.